


Little Wildlings

by LadyWynne



Series: Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Daddy Sandor, Extreme AU, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 13:05:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWynne/pseuds/LadyWynne
Summary: Sandor takes his brood for a day out.





	Little Wildlings

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of my series, but there has been a ten year time jump since Call to Arms. Let's just say the Clegane family has really expanded in that time! I thought this would be fun to post for Father's Day. 
> 
> For those who aren't familiar this series is an extreme AU. Sandor and Sansa were married young and Clegane's Keep is in the North.

Sansa stands in the yard in the early morning light. She cannot believe the path her life has led her. Where once she prayed for children, struggling to conceive and bear her son, now she is the mother of seven. It seems that after the war with the Night King, once summer was truly upon them, the old gods blessed her. Sansa gave birth to six children in rapid succession. All girls, all with red hair and grey eyes.

Sandor leads his horse up to her and rasps, smiling. “Enjoy your day of peace.”

“Oh, I will,” she says, kissing him, “Thank you for taking them Sandor.  They do love spending time with you.”

“I’ve put it off too long.  I promised the wildlings a moon past, and they’ve never let me forget it.” He mounts his horse.

Sansa frowns, “Sandor, they are not wildlings. They are ladies.”

“Aye, woman, as you say.” Then he grins down at her. “Still, if we make it back in one piece I’ll give thanks to the old gods on the morrow.”

“I’ll say a prayer for you.” Sansa winks.

At that moment Jedrek joins them with his youngest sister. Sansa looks at him with pride. Her son is nearly as tall as his father, in fact the maester says the youth may one day overtake Sandor’s height. Jedrek pushes his wavy black hair out of his grey eyes, which just now are twinkling.

“Yes Father, I’ll be sure to visit the godswood for you as well.”

Sandor grunts, “You’ll look after your lady mother and visit the training yard.”

Jedrek nods good-naturedly, hoisting his sister up to sit in front of Sandor, “Aye, Father.”

Sansa knows there was never any real doubt on Sandor’s part. Jedrek trains hard and takes his duties seriously. She takes a step back and watches the procession of horses and ponies leave through the gate, each red-haired sprite waving or blowing a kiss in farewell.

Once they are gone Jedrek turns to her. “It will be strange not having the wild…,” he stops himself, “the girls around today.”

Sansa nods distractedly then smiles up at her son, “Yes, but it gives me a chance to be with you. You’ll lunch with me after training?”

“Of course, Mother. It’s not often I get you all to myself.”

Sansa rises on her toes to kiss his cheek, not caring if he thinks he is too old for such affection, and watches him head off in the direction of the armory.

“Iris,” she says, entering the Hall. “I think I will have a bath, a very long, hot bath.”

The maid smiles and bobs a curtsy, “Of course, my lady.”

Sandor 

The day is perfect for an outing, one of the last that will be warm enough for what he has in mind. The long summer is ending, and the first part of autumn has arrived. Soon his family will be forced indoors by snowdrifts meters high against the walls of Clegane’s Keep. He shoves that thought aside. He will enjoy time with his girls without care for the future.

Sandor promised this day to his daughters after a trip to White Harbor. It was raining, and he returned in a dour mood; but the moment he entered the Keep he was accosted by a mob of red-haired lassies, each demanding a kiss, a hug, to be picked up, and to hear all about his journey.  With a girl in each arm and another around a leg, he was finally able to greet Sansa, who laughed and kissed him. 

Since becoming Lady Clegane Sansa has given him a son and six daughters.  His son Jedrek is the oldest at fifteen. He is their only winter child, born just before Bolton’s rebellion. Sansa nearly died in the birthing room, and Sandor has been a mess each birth since. Next came Jonae, ten, named for Sansa’s brother Jon. Sandor loves all his children, but she is special, as courteous and brave as her lady mother. Then the first twins were born, Elinor and Arya, aged eight. Elinor is a scholar in the making, with a great love of books; and Arya is as fierce as her namesake with a love of the outdoors. Another set of twins came only a year later, Sandra and Sanaya. Beautiful Sandra and good Sanaya. Finally, there was born his cheerful Moira, four, seated in front of him now.

Sandor starts the day by riding through the village closest to Clegane’s Keep.  The smallfolk love the girls and the girls love them.  As they ride he inquires about fields and families, and answers questions that come up.  His daughters wave and speak with children they know.  They allow their knees to be patted by old women.  Sanaya, ever kind, asks permission to stop and visit the home of a new mother; but Sandor says no, their lady mother will come by with a gift later.

Moira twists around to look at her father, “Will mother have any more babes, Da’?”

“Mayhaps.” The little girl is quiet for a while.

“Will I always be the smallest Clegane?”

“You’re like to outgrow your mother someday.”

“Do you like pigeon pie?”

“Aye.”

“Do I like pigeon pie?”

“Aye.”

“What are we having for lunch?”

“We brought cheese and nut-bread with us.”

“Da’?”

“Yes?”

“Why is your face different?”

“It was burned.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going swimming.”

“Oh,” a smile.

“Da’?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“And I love you, girl.”

As they leave the village Moira leans to the side, trying to look at everything at once. The territory is new for her. Sandor pulls her more securely against him.

It is midmorning when they arrive at the spot Sandor remembers from his childhood, a place where a swift shallow stream exits the wolfswood and forms a series of natural pools. The girls set out blankets on the grass, and he secures the horses further downstream. Sandor hears giggles erupting from where his children are. He smiles, but bellows in their direction, “All right, you wildlings! No one gets in ‘til I get up there!”

“Yes Father,” a high-pitched chorus returns.

When he makes it back his daughters are already stripped down to their shifts, standing barefoot next to the water.

“Can we get in now?” Arya asks, hopping from foot to foot in her excitement.

“Aye.”

The girls run in with happy shouts and splashes. He lowers himself onto the bank to watch them play. Before long he sees whispers and glances thrown his way. The girls begin to edge closer, being oh-so-casual. Then they attack together, twelve little hands splashing him all at once.

He bolts up with a playful roar. “Think you can sneak up on your father, do you? Just you wait.”

The girls scatter with riotous giggles as he throws his boots, belt, and tunic aside. “That’s right, you’d better run. You know what we do with wildlings when we catch them!” With that he is in the water, snatching up one squealing daughter after the next. He throws them over his shoulder, splashes, and tickles until each one has been “caught”.

After a couple of hours of swim lessons and “sea monster,” Sandor hauls himself out of the pool, worn out. He stretches out on one of the blankets in the sun, keeping his ears attuned to his children. Soon he feels a wet head on his stomach and opens one eye to see Sandra propped against him. She is lazily twirling a leaf in her hands.

“Thank you for bringing us Father.”

“You’re welcome, my girl. I wanted to.” She seems to study her leaf for long seconds.

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

He nearly sits up at that but thinks better of it and relaxes. “Of course I do. You are beautiful.”

“It’s just that, well, I’m not a Princess like my cousins. I can’t sew as well as Mother. I don’t know as much as Elinor. I don’t ride as well as Arya. And there are so many of us. What if no one wants me when I grow up?”

“Trust me, lass, you have nothing to worry about.” In truth Sandor thinks Sandra very beautiful. Her hair is especially gorgeous, long and curling like Sansa’s. “Your mother and I will find you a good match someday, or mayhaps I will keep you with me forever.”

“Father!” she protests, but then her hand reaches to hold his own. The innocence of the gesture touches him. “I must marry so I can have beautiful children and live in my own castle.”

“Sandra, love, you mustn’t worry about what will be. Do your best to learn and grow. Enjoy the time you have to be a child. It doesn’t last forever.” _Would that it could._ He squeezes her hand.

She seems to think on it, “Yes, Father.”

They lie quietly for a while, but when Sandor feels himself dozing he shakes his head and calls, “Out of the water you lot! Time for lunch.”

Jonae is the first to arrive and halts the dripping procession before they reach the blankets. “You’ll soak these through. Wring out your shifts and hair first.” Her sisters mutter but comply. Sandor smiles softly as he watches her fuss over their simple lunch as if it were a formal tea. _So like the little bird._ Only when everything is arranged does Jonae allow the other girls to sit.

They are all ravenous after their swim, and soon everyone is stuffed. Moira falls asleep as soon as she is finished, and Sandor decides a little nap of his own wouldn’t be amiss. He moves to sit next to his youngest, giving the others a hard look.

“Do not get back in the water.”

He puts a stop to their grumbling with a glare, but it softens almost immediately, “I noticed blueberries at the edge of the forest. Why don’t you have some, and pick a few for your mother.” Five little heads nod happily then, and he lies back, dozing while they eat blueberries and play amongst the grasses.

When Sandor wakes, he beholds the most charming scene of his life. His lovely daughters are seated together on a blanket in their dry shifts. The children wear crowns and necklaces of wildflowers. Some are braiding each other’s hair, while others work to craft little bouquets. Over it all the dappled sunlight plays on creamy skin and freckles, and glints in red tresses.

Sandor watches, trying to preserve every detail in his memory.

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet was inspired by this adorable picture.
> 
> https://pin.it/3tdrohsqihchvx
> 
> https://pin.it/qywmwsy7xcd5kc


End file.
